We used our sabbatical to travel to Athens to help serve refugees.  Perhaps the greatest surprise was the way we were shaped by being there.  The purpose of our trip was not to have a particular experience or receive a benefit.  The motivation was concern for those in crisis and a desire to do something.  But service is never one way.  When humans encounter each other in relationship we are all changed.  Just because we went as volunteer helpers does not exclude the potential that we would benefit also.  In God's economy we are all beggars helping other beggars to find bread.  It is not surprising that service would be the place that he meets us and changes us.  

Athens was different. It was different in ways that were hard and ways that were good.  It offered a different perspective on life.  Because of that, I think that I became more aware of the pitfalls of secular western life.  The pitfall that I keep thinking about most is called control.  

One of the defining features of life in America is the expectation that we should be able to control things.  This has some benefits, but it also has some toxic side effects, many of which are hard to see.  Life in Athens was one big experiment in having no control over things.  It was frustrating at first, but it was a climate in which healthy spirituality could flourish.  

I think that the crowning belief of all secular culture is that humans are the primary agents of control.  With God out of the picture, we have no one to blame but ourselves and our political opponents when things go wrong.  This has the benefit of stirring people to action, but without the boundary of divine authority the impulse to control can become all consuming.  

American culture chants the mantra of self determination with rhythmic regularity.  "You can do it.  Follow your dreams.  Make it happen.  You can do it..."  When you live inside of it you seldom see it.  As they say, "If you want to know what water is like, don't ask the fish."  But life in Athens exposed all of my control impulses.  A different rhythm played in my head and challenged me in a new way.  Instead of the drumbeat of self determination, I felt the repeated blows of powerlessness.  

At the beginning of the trip I wrote about my experience of entering a "squat" (an unofficial refugee housing unit) and feeling the nagging sense of powerlessness.  I wanted to do something.  Fix something.  Bring something.  But there was nothing to do, or fix, or bring.  I could only be there.  And listen.  And pray.  And smile.  And receive a cup of diluted tea in a small Styrofoam cup.  Instead of control, God's purpose was for me to be present with someone in their suffering.  

Other aspects of life warred against my illusion of control.  The entire Greek economy is out of control.  They are a small nation who feels blown about on a stormy sea.  Their resentment towards Germany probably stems from the feeling that Germany controls their destiny more than they do.  Unemployment is high and domestic life is challenging.  Life is spent waiting for subway trains to show up.  And sometimes when the operators strike they don't show up at all.  

The refugee crisis as a whole is beyond control.  The millions of displaced people who are living in terrible conditions around the world are the result of layer upon layer of sin and violence.  There are no easy solutions.  If you gave me a magic wand and told me to change any policy right now, I don't have confidence that I could make things better.  

On a small scale, most of our refugee friends are waiting for someone else to tell them what will happen in their life.  Waiting to find out where they will go. If they will go somewhere.  Waiting for a border to open.  Waiting for the refugee service to answer the phone.  Waiting for food to be served.  Waiting for a seemingly endless war to end.  Waiting.  And there is nothing I can do to fix it.  

Our refugee friends usually mark each future hope with the Arabic saying, "If God wills", and each statement about their current condition by saying, "Thanks be to God." It is a verbal reminder that they do not control their lives.  Greeks speak differently and, of course, have very different beliefs but they also are far more likely than we are to believe that life is uncontrollable.  

There are many negatives to this life outlook.  It discourages activism and can lead people to be passive in the face of injustice.  If my ministry was in a different place, I would probably need to think a lot about the ways that the Bible teaches the dignity of human responsibility and our call to act under God as responsible agents for change.  But that is not my ministry.  The American view of human dignity is no longer something that exists "under God" and as such our quest for control knows no constraint.  Crawling outside of the water that I regularly swim in has helped me to see the ways in which our insistence on human control produces toxic side effects.  Like all good things, when human power is pried loose from the framework of God it becomes distorted.  When human agency exists in the cold bare universe of the secular West it grows and shifts.  What is fundamentally good can become monstrous.  To use religious language, it becomes idolatrous.  

Our desire for self determination shapes the way that we do life  in this fallen world.  It causes the focus of our vision to gravitate inward towards ourselves.  For the Christian this leads us away from dependence on God, prayer and worship.  This is disastrous for the life of faith.  But it also has negative consequences that are not strictly spiritual.  

Obsessing over control invites the illusion that all problems are fixable.  Or to be more specific, that all problems are easily fixable.  We prefer easy solutions and we are inclined to think that the reason a problem has not been fixed is because of our political enemies.  Stepping away from American politics for a little bit has helped me to see how easily people of all political persuasions do this.  We assume a simple solution and then fortify our narrative by blaming our political opponents for what goes wrong.  I think this has produced a shrill and vindictive political spirit.  It is also a cheap substitute for real service.    

Sharing life with refugees was a wonderful antidote to simplistic thinking.  There are no easy solutions.  There are many hard problems.  And there are people that we can know and relate to in the midst of it.  Instead of blaming and ranting, each day offered the opportunity to enter into the mess and share life with people living in uncontrollable and uncomfortable circumstances.  

Obsessing over control also invites us to create lives that are controllable.  We have the freedom and affluence in America to avoid uncomfortable people and uncomfortable problems.  We can control who we live near, who we go to school with and who we work with.  There are many, many Americans that live painful lives that are beyond easy fixes.  They are surviving.  Their reality challenges our illusion of control.  But we can avoid them.  Or blame their problems on our political opponents.  

Some days I didn't want to enter into the lives of suffering people in Athens.  I don't want to make this blog post sound like I am trumpeting our heroism.  I didn't feel like that at all.  We worked with extraordinarily brave and committed people and followed them into service.  Sometimes I followed begrudgingly.  But what I am reflecting on most is the surprising realization that sharing life with refugees was beneficial for me spiritually.  I prayed more regularly and more passionately.  I looked with hope to God for the coming of his kingdom.  I spent more time thinking about how to be with people faithfully.  I was reminded that God is not asking us to control the universe.  That job position is filled and applications are not being received.  Instead, he is asking us to be faithful in the  midst of what he is doing.  

As i look back on the summer, I think that there was a turning point for me.  As the ancient Greek doctor Hippocrates said, there was a moment of crisis.  Rereading my journal I am reminded of the time early in the summer when the adjustment was particularly challenging.  The tone of the entries are full of despair.  I wrote often of a lack of control and feeling powerless.  Then, on July 2, I wrote, "I have no hope of being fruitful here unless God works."  

I believed that and I prayed with fervent desire for God to break in.  And he did.  Now, through the clear vision of hindsight, I can see that many blessings of God were waiting just around the corner.  God is faithful and he is active.  He works for those who wait for him (Is 64:4).  Letting go of control, I began to move forward in faith.  Most importantly, I came to love people who lived in uncontrollable life.  That changes you.    

Yes, we are endowed with dignity and called to use our ability to fix the world around us.  But, unless it is submitted to God's divine authority that ability can become monstrous.  It will distort the way we relate to people and the way that we think about ourselves.  The people I worked with did many things to help those who were suffering.  Their approach was not fatalistic.  But the starting point was relationship.  The starting point was entering into a difficult situation and then looking up to our heavenly Father in dependent prayer.  It is a very different approach to doing life.  It is a life of faith.  

Many of my American friends know how to live this dependent life of faith.  They are not as easily swayed by the chants of self reliance.  But I needed the crisis in Greece to remind me.  Now, back in the United States of America, I can already feel the toxic mist of self determination seeping into the windows of my bedroom.  I can't fully describe it, but I can feel it.  The temptation to say that I can do it on my own.  I don't need God.  That human flourishing lies just on the other side of our authentic self expression.  

This is a tempting myth for the affluent and the healthy and those fortunate to live in relatively stable countries.  But for the vast majority of people in the world that lie is quickly exposed as a cruel joke.  Life is hard and it is not easily controlled.  World problems are massively complex.  Our lives are altered by large scale events far beyond our control.  The hope that we need lies outside of our own abilities.        

And that, I believe, is a tremendous benefit that comes from sharing life with refugees.  


       

We are safely home and recovering from our trip.  It has been nice visiting with family and I look forward to being at Church on Sunday and seeing City Reformed! 

We are sorting through our clean clothes and our dirty clothes.  We are also sorting through our memories and trying to process what has happened over the past two months.  I have already been asked some questions, and I know that many more will follow.  Athens already feels like a world away, but a glance at photos and a story retold make the memories vivid again.  The summer made an impact on our lives in a number of ways.  Perhaps it was most surprising to feel how much we began to miss Greece as we were beginning to leave.  I found myself marking every occasion with the adjective "last."  Last swim in the Mediterranean Sea.  Last walk up past the Acropolis.  Last dinner with friends.  Last time on the subway.  

Here is my attempt to gather some up some of the things that make our summer special.  

1.)  Regular ministry contact with friends and coworkers.  Our daily life was lived in close proximity with other people - our refugee friends, our Greek coworkers and our overseas volunteers.  My total daily contact with people was different, but I saw a smaller number of people more often.  And we had a clearly defined ministry goal that helped to focus our energy in the same direction.  It is a lot of fun to be part of a team.  

We worked with several amazing young women this summer and was honored to serve as part of Servant Group International.  There was no complaining and minimal team conflict. On our last day we "handed the baton" off to 4 new SGI volunteers.  Two young men and a family of four.  I watched them take not just the metaphorical baton, but pick up the mop and the toilet scrub brush.  I know that we left the SGI portion of the ministry in good hands.  

Eleni and Alex from the Greek church poured themselves out in sacrificial service without stop.  They have opened their doors and opened their hearts.  The cost has been high, but the fruitfulness is beautiful.

Our translators from Egypt, Syria, and Afghanistan took logged long hours and took high risks.  I feel special friendship with these folks, but due to the sensitive nature of their work, it is best not to name them online.  They have my deepest respect.   

Jesus said, "The greatest among you will be those who serve."  I worked with some truly great people this summer!

2.)  Seeing God's Kingdom growing in surprising places.  In the midst of a massive refugee crisis, an economic crisis, and political upheaval in Europe... God is working in powerful ways.  Jesus summarizes this best:  "The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls,  who, on finding one pearl of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it."  (Matt 13:45-46)  Nothing is better than seeing the Kingdom grow.  

​3.)  Life was quite simple.  This is not necessarily repeatable and all things get complicated over time.  But we had no car, limited internet access, few bills and lots more free time than normal.  I seldom had to multi-task.  We did a lot of hard work, but when we were done... we were done.  Of course there is a hard side to this same thing.  Sometimes we felt trapped without a car, living in a small apartment.  But on the whole, the simplicity of life was refreshing.  

4.)  Family Life.  Again, there were challenges that came from spending so much family time together and in living in our small apartment.  But the kids shared in our ministry more than normal and we had many great adventures together.  I am sure that I will look back on those two months spent in a cramped apartment and in the hot streets of Athens as some of the best family memories of my life.  

5.)  Refugee Friends.  We made many wonderful friends with people that we formally knew only as "refugees."  What had formally been merely a statistic... has now become the faces and names of people that we love.  We all share a common humanity.  Many of us share friendship.  Some of us share a common place in God's story of redemption.  I will forever treasure these memories.  

6.)  Good food.  This list combines both the profound and the mundane.  But, the Greek food was general quite good and the Syrian food that we ate frequently was also delicious.  We had fresh bread nearly every day from a bakery that was about 30 yards from our house.  The produce was fresh and inexpensive.  Gyros for 2 Euros could be found on nearly every corner.  Our friends Eleni and Sezar are fabulous cooks!  

7.)  The Mediterranean Sea.  It is really beautiful.  Warm and clear.  Mostly quite clean.  (Except for after large storms.)  Salty and bouyant.  No sharks.  No jelly fish where we were swimming.  The beaches stretched for miles and many were accessible from public transportation.  This was magical.  

8.)  Old Stuff.  Ancient ruins were everywhere in Athens.  We lived close to the Acropolis and the Areopagus.  I love history and Greece has history by the shovelful.  My morning jog would traverse the same streets walked by Socrates, Aristotle, Plato, the Apostle Paul, Pericles, etc.  Greeks remember their place in world dominating empires (Alexander's and the Byzantine), and they remember what is is like to live as a conquered people (part of the Ottoman Empire for 400 years.)  This gives you a different perspective on life.  

9.)  A vision of a broader world.  Not only did Athens have a deep history, but it sits at the modern day crossroads of the world and its daily social interactions connect you to people who come from the far corners of the earth.  Tourists the world over flock to Athens for their holiday.  Low paying jobs still attract workers from Africa, Southeast Asia, and Easter Europe.  Refugees from the Middle East and Afghanistan have fled there trying to make their way to a new life.  In reality, the ligua franca of the region is English, so were able to talk to nearly everyone.  

10.)  A break from the social wars of America.  It was refreshing to be away from the intensity of social and cultural upheaval in America.  Greece was in many ways a bit more of a traditional culture and while they were wrestling with their own social change, much of it was hidden from non-Greek speakers.  The problems are different, they don't feel so personal and honestly... as an outsider you can miss much of it.  

11.)  Perspective.  Stepping outside of your own world allows you to see things more clearly.  I hope to write in the near future about some reflections on the challenges that Christians face in my own country.  But for now I happy to look back on a wonderful summer.  

I am deeply and profoundly thankful for God's grace and mercy on our family during this sabbatical.  I am also deeply and profoundly thankful for a church that sent us out into an exciting and life changing sabbatical - and for my fellow staff at CRPC who covered for me in my absence.  This was a very special gift to us!        

We arrived at Moscow at 4 am and had a 6 hr layover. Put down a blanket and slept on the floor. A tiny taste of life as a displaced person. Fitting ending to our trip. :)

...we're standing here beside the door.

Actually we are standing in the line for Aeroflot check-in. Heavy hearts and a long trip ahead of us. We plan to visit family for a few days upon return and are excited to be at City Reformed for worship on Sunday! We are so deeply thankful for a wonderful summer in Athens. (matt)

We will be starting the return trip home in about four days.  Our time is now filled with saying goodbye to new friends and taking a last look at favorite places.  We will also welcome 8 new SGI team members over the next three days and will be working to help them get acclimated.  

This all has brought on a season of reflection about home.  We have been feeling waves of homesickness all summer which lead to an eagerness to return to our familiar life.  But those waves are interspersed with a profound sadness to be leaving this ministry and the people that we have come to love.  In the middle of our eagerness to re-enter life and ministry in Pittsburgh there is a growing awareness that we will now be homesick for Greece.    

Our own experience has been interwoven with the profound experience of sharing life with refugees and the simple joy of an extended Lord of the Rings/Hobbit marathon.  Each day we have listened to stories of people who have fled their homes in fear.  Their cars and houses have been flattened by bombs and family members have been killed.  Most refugees that I have talked to would love to go home if they could, but the the cities that they love are deeply changed and in some cases they barely exist at all.  

We have also been shaped by movies.  For the last 2-3 weeks many of our nights have been used to watch segments of the stories from Middle-earth.  Of course it is all fantasy, but it is an excellent movie series based an extraordinary series of books.  The heroes are admirable and the story telling is beautiful.  Honor and bravery are celebrated.  After watching several times, I still find the movies enjoyable.  

What I had not noticed before is the way themes of "home" are so central to each of the movies/books.  It seems that the peculiar strength of Hobbits is linked to their willingness to be content with the simple joys of home.  I could write an entire article exploring this theme, but I will draw out two memorable points.  First, when Thorin Oakenshield is dragging his friends into a needless war in his lust for more treasure, Biblo is quietly longing to go home to his Hobbit hole and plant a tree.  Second, when Frodo and Sam are at their lowest they find strength to continue their quest in memories of their home.  Sam finds strength to push through the last boiling steps up Mt. Doom by remembering the Shire.    

 "Do you remember the Shire, Mr. Frodo? It'll be spring soon and the orchards will be in blossom, and the birds will be nesting in the hazel thicket. And the whistle in the summer barley in the Lower fields. And eating the first of the strawberries with cream. Do you remember the taste of strawberries?'

All of that is beautiful, but as much as Tolkien explores the theme of homecoming, the books (and the movies) don't end at the happy homecoming that you might expect.  Sam, Pippin and Merry find peace and happiness in the Shire, but Frodo still bears the burden of the One Ring and Ring-Wraith's sword.  Frodo cannot truly return to the Shire.  "We have saved the Shire, Sam.  But not for me."  Frodo's home now lies in the West.  Not in the Shire, but with the Elves in the Undying lands.  

Sometimes you can't go home.  

This is the case for many of my refugee friends.  Their houses and cars have been destroyed by bombs.  In some cases, their home city has been reduced to rubble.  Family members were killed and the delicate social fabric of peaceful society was shredded by war.  Recently, a Syrian friend told me that he didn't see how Syria could ever recover from this conflict.  The indiscriminate killing and brutal tactics of both the regime and the rebellion have fanned ethnic tensions.  Sunni and Shia Muslims look at each other with increased suspicion and the Christian minority is being scattered to the wind.  Before the war, Syria was known for having a pretty tolerant Middle-eastern society with different religious and ethnic groups living in relative harmony.  It is hard to see how that can be reconstructed in the near future.  Even if the fighting stopped tomorrow, Syria will not be the same again.    

Sometimes you can't go home.  

I have been thinking of this in a more personal way.  As I get older, I find myself increasingly homesick for the places that no longer exist and the people who no longer live.  Being in a Mediterranean country has stirred memories of teenage visits to Spain.  The food, the climate and the culture bear striking similarities.  But, as I reflect on this longing I confront the reality that the Spain of my memories no longer exists.  The society has changed and many of the people that I remember are no longer alive.  

In a way, this is also true of my own hometown.  The vibrant little Appalachian community that my parents moved to in 1980 has encountered one economic downturn after another.  Each year businesses close, class sizes shrink and fewer graduates stay in the community.  The physical landmarks are the same, but the social fabric has shifted dramatically.  The people are different.  

Sometimes you can't go home.  

It is now just over a year since my father died and memories of his life loom over all thoughts of home.  I realize now that home was never really a place, but it was located in the people.  The house of my youth is mostly the same.  My mother's warm and welcoming presence still lights the home and embraces the wider community.  But even this home feels profoundly different.  As we prepare for a major transition back to Pittsburgh, I have found myself returning to memories of other homecomings.  My father is part of all those memories.  I remember his chuckle and his kind words.  I remember the unique ways that he would talk.  I know that I will not see those expressions or hear those words again in this life.  He would have loved to hear all about out trip.  I long to share with him the things we have learned on this adventure.  But I can't.    

As we talked about some of these things at breakfast the other day, I thought about the way the Bible talks about homelessness and homecomings.  From the beginning, when our first parents were cast out of the garden, humans have been looking for their true home.  Moses was a stranger in a strange land.  Daniel spent his entire prophetic career in the palace of a foreign king.  The book of Hebrews tells us that the great heroes of faith were looking for a home that they would not find on this earth.  

When Jesus entered into our situation he embraced homelessness.  He told one would-be-disciple that "the Son of Man has no place to lay his head." (Matthew 8;20)  As Rich Mullins sang:  "Birds have nests, foxes have dens; But the hope of the whole world rests;  On the shoulders of a homeless man."  Ultimately, he was rejected and cast out of the city, left to die alone on a cross for criminals.  

But the beauty of the story is that his rejection brings our inclusion.  By paying the price for our rebellion, Jesus opens the door for our return to the heart of God.  With sins forgiven we pass through the veil into the Holy of Holies, into the presence of our heavenly Father (Hebrews 10:19-22).  And so we find home... not by looking back, but by looking forward.  The book of Revelation ends with a prophetic picture of our great future homecoming.  All who have trusted in Christ will enter into the New Jerusalem.  "And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Behold the dwelling place of God is with man.  He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God." (Rev 21:3) 

If we are looking back at what has been we cannot truly go home.  Places change and people pass away.  But, the great feeling of homesickness is a gift from God.  It stirs us out of our present complacency and teaches us to long for completeness.  We will find it, not by looking back, but by looking forward... and looking to the bloody sacrifice of "the homeless man."    (Matt)  

The last week was the beginning of a transition.  The rest of our SGI team has left Greece and we are awaiting 4 new team members this weekend, before we also end our "tour of duty" in Greece.  Over the next 8 days we will begin to say goodbye and pass the baton to the new volunteers.  

We are beginning to make the mental transition to thinking about our return to the U.S.  Recently a friend asked me what I had learned during our time in Athens.  I have been fortunate to travel quite a bit and I can't say that any one piece of the trip has offered something entirely new.  However, our time in Athens has served to confirm my belief that the great tragedies of our time are massively complex and defy simplistic solutions. There is no "easy button" when it comes to the refugee crisis.  But in the midst of the chaos and confusion we can look to the Lord in faith and we can choose to move towards other people in love.

Here are a sample of the complicated things that swirl around the refugee situation in Athens:

Refugees come mostly from Syria, but also from Iraq and Afghanistan.  Currently, only Syrian refugees are guaranteed permanent asylum in the west.  Their language and cultures are different.  But they all come from dangerous war torn countries where there is no hope of a quick, peaceful resolution.  Most have lost all of their material possessions.  Many have lost family members.  These are real people who dream of a better life, love their families and face the fears of an uncertain future.  They are not merely numbers.  They are human beings made in God's image, with eternal souls.         

In the conflict as a whole, there are lots of bad guys and few good guys.  This is especially true in Syria, where it is pretty much impossible to tell which side of the civil war should be supported.  (President Assad is a brutal dictator, but the rebel army split into multiple factions, include ISIS.)  All of the sides use indiscriminate violence, and the stories of war atrocities that I hear first hand form the mouth of my refugee friends highlight the evil on all sides of the equation.  

Greece itself is in the midst of a prolonged fiscal crisis.  The solutions to their mounting debt and chronic unemployment are not obvious.  The majority of Greeks have been extraordinarily patient with the refugees swarming into their city.  Perhaps it is because the economy is so bad, there is no risk that they will steal jobs.        

European countries are struggling to assimilate Muslim refugees and some are starting to reduce their intake.  Recent violence in France was linked to a radicalized Muslim from North Africa.  Some recent violence in Germany was linked to refugees from Syria and Afghanistan.  My experience has confirmed my belief that the majority of refugees desire to live quiet and peaceful lives, but you cannot say that refugees offer zero risk.  Multiculturalism is a wonderful dream, but a very difficult reality.  

Often forgotten in the midst of these challenges is the ongoing plight of the middle eastern Christians.  Syrian Christians are often excluded from UN camps and can be targeted by aggressive Muslims.  Even in Greece, Muslim converts to Christianity are at risk of physical violence.  (And there are increasing numbers of converts.)  Ethnic Christian groups from Syria and Iraq have been scattered and killed.  Large percentages of the population of Egypt, Syria, and Iraq had passed their Christian faith from generation to generation.  In Iraq only an estimated 500,000 Christians remain from the nearly 3 million that lived their prior to the U.S. invasion.  Throughout the middle east Christians are often targeted for reprisal when America (or another "Christian" nation) does something offensive.  Friends who were religious minorities in Muslim dominated countries have reminded me how difficult this position can be.  

The bitterness caused by vicious fighting will not be easily quelled.  One Syrian friend told me recently, "I don't know how this war will ever end.  There has been so much killing and the hate will go on and on.  Before the war,  Christians, Jews, Sunnis and Shia (Muslims) lived together in Syria in peace.  I don't know how we can go back."      

In the midst of it all, I spend a lot of time listening.  We serve food, and teach English, and try to help the church provide care in emergencies.  But mostly we listen to people tell their stories and pray that God will intervene.  I spend a lot of time praying for the Prince of Peace to show up and bring comfort and healing.  I am a lot slower to speak about these complicated things.  If anything has changed in me, I think that I am less inclined to dream about grand political solutions to our problems.  The world leaders will continue to fumble along with a mixture of motives.  Instead we have an opportunity to love actual people who are in the midst of crisis.  

We frequently speak about the amazing doors of opportunity that God has been opening in the midst of all the bad stuff that is happening.  I have meditated often on Hebrews 12:27-28 - God is shaking the kingdoms of the world and establishing his eternal kingdom.  Sometimes that is the only confident thing we can say about the current situation.  God is at work in the midst of the horrors.  Many people who previously had no access to the gospel message are being thrust outward into new and open lands.  In the midst of chaos and uncertainty, doors of hope open for particular people.  I don't know what will happen in the big picture, but right here, right now - God is shaking and building.  I feel so privileged to be here in the midst of it all for two months this summer.  

 "The words "once more" indicate the removing of what can be shaken-- that is, created things-- so that what cannot be shaken may remain.  Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe," - Hebrews 12:27-28

 

Tonight we walked the entire circle around the Acropolis.  Throughout its history the Acropolis marked the centered of Athens.  It was a fortress, a kingly palace and a temple.  Around its slopes stretched the marketplaces and the homes of town folk.  During the last century Athens sprawled out across the plain in all directions.  The administrative and economic activity is now centered elsewhere, but the slopes around the Acropolis remain the heart of the city.  Tourist flock him from the far corners of the earth.  Street vendors from Africa and Southeast Asia scratch out a living, joined by beggars from Eastern Europe.  The native Greeks are here as well, enjoying the night air as the shadows lengthen.  

Tonight we had set out after dinner to find ice cream and look for souvenirs.  It was supposed to be a short walk, but our youngest child mutinied.  After Chrissie escorted her back to the confines of our house the remaining four of us were set free to roam without constraint.    

We walked through the streets of Plaka, a high end tourist destination.  The buildings here are some of the oldest still in use and the government subsidizes their renovation.  Restaurants and souvenir shops line narrow cobblestone streets.  (See picture above.)  High end leather, silver, and pottery are displayed next to tacky t-shirt shops.  Tables on the sidewalk and terracotta roofs make this look like a scene from the Discovery channel.  A glance down a side street reveals the towering cliffs of the Acropolis and the soft hues of sunset.  The kids have stopped in front of me, staring into a t-shirt shop.  They were surprised to read a t-shirt that was display.   Twenty five centuries prior Sophocles shocked theater audiences with a play about murder and incest.  Today Oedipus and his mother are a coarse joke on a t-shirt for tourists.  Worlds collide, the ancient and the modern, the timeless and the vulgar.  I offered a brief word of explanation and we keep moving.              

The trendy shops of Plaka give way to the grittier buildings of Monastiraki Square.   there are still tourists here, but the square is full of young Greeks out with their friends.  We skirt the edge of an ancient ruins and walk past the entrance to a subway.  We must stand out as tourists and the busy square is a place where the vendors are more agressive.  An African man rushes to greet us and welcome us to Greece.  "You must stay for the music", he says as he drops to a knee and shakes the hands of my kids.  He is holding bracelets and it is clear that he wants to sell one.  I smile and tell him that we are not interested.  He ignores my completely and begins to attach a bracelet to Norah's hand.  
    "We don't want one, thank you."    
    "You are from America, that's great."
    (He begins to tie the bracelet on Norah's hand.)
   "We don't want one one, thank you."
    "But we have drums tonight, she will need a rasta bracelet."
     "We don't want one, thank you."
    "I love America, I am glad that you are here."  
    I reach down and untie the bracelet on Norah's hand.
   "Oh no, I want her to have it."
   (He implies it is a gift, but I know that the price tag will follow if I leave it on her hand.)  
   "We don't want one, thank you."
   (I have untied it now, and hand it back.  I persist longer than he does and he takes the bracelet back and moves on.)
 
I pull the kids a little tighter and we press on down a side street, past musicians who play the electric guitar through small amplifiers.  This part of the walk feels more like Atlantic City.  We buy slushies from Ben and Jerry's and eat them at cafe tables in the twilight.  

We are now half way around the Acropolis and we could take the subway home, but the kids vote to press onward and complete the loop.  I have never walked through this section at night and don't know what to expect.  We skirt the edge of an ancient temple and begin to climb the hill on the Western flank of the Acropolis.  Between this main road and the cliffs of the Acropolis lies the ancient agora, the ruined foundations of a marketplace from the first century.  It is now a public park and can be accessed for a small fee.   The streets are now lined with small tables where tinkers and merchants sell their wares.  Shoes from China are laid out on blankets.  LED lights cast shadows on handcrafted trinkets.  The street is wide and made of cobblestones.  Young people and families with children stroll through the early evening enjoying a break from the oppressive heat.  It seems to me that this section of the walk has more locals.  I hear more Greek being spoken and few people seem interested in souvenirs.  

Music again permeates the air, this time from a trio of folks musicians playing classical Greek folk songs.  The accordion, guitar and flute weave together sounds that have echoed in these hills for many years.  The lead vocalist sings with conviction and I wish I knew what he was saying.  A crowd has gathered to listen in respect.  Dozens of people sit on a wall by the side of the street with their backs to the ancient marketplace.  Between the audience and the performers the crowds lurch by.  Motorcycles and bicycles occasionally meandering through the people.    Two young women gather near them and start to dance.  At the close of the song an old man limps over and begins to talk to them.  I am too far to hear and I am sure I would not understand if they did.  As the next song starts, the man begins to shift his feet from side and side, then he lifts his arms to dance.  I think they are playing his request.  A young boy rushes forward and jumps up and down.  I imagine that this is a song the old man has been hearing since his the day his own young legs bounced along the hills of Greece.  

We continue to climb and the drums grow louder.  Ten men are sitting in the middle of the street, drumming and chanting.  The sound is repetitive, but invigorating.  At the top of the hill we reach familiar terrain and begin a slight descent back towards our apartment.  We are less then ten minutes from home and have been out for nearly two hours, but when the kids asked to detour to Mars Hill I agreed.  It is nice to be outside and not roasting in the sun, so I don't want to hurry home.  Also, they seldom ask to extend a walk, so I don't want to let the moment slip.  And... no matter how often we go to the Areopagus (Mars Hill) it never gets old.  It requires a short climb into the shadow of the Acropolis.  As we walk up the ancient marble steps we pass by the Herodian Theater.  This stone Ampitheater was built in the second century and is nearly as famous as the Parthenon.  But unlike the Parthenon it is still functional.  Tonight there is a live performance and I remember from the a subway poster that it is the classic opera "Carmen."  I was hoping to hear the staccato notes of "Habanera" as we passed by, but a song had just finished and the applause rises above the ancient stone walls.  In this historic Greek theater, opera singers belt out French lyrics, mourning the ill fated love affair of a naive Spanish soldier and a zesty Gypsy woman.       

Just as we reach the steps to the Areopagus a voice calls out a greeting.  Under a nearby street lamp our friends have gathered.  The other four members of our current SGI team and two young Syrian families are lounging around a park bench, drinking sodas and eating sunflower seeds.  There is a festive note in the gathering, in part because our Syrian friends have received good news about job options.  But there is a somber side to is as well.  Two of the team members will return to America tomorrow evening, and the other two will follow next week.  Although we still have two and a half weeks here, our time is drawing to an end.  

In this corner of the world the nations gather and the pulsating rhythms of modern life echo over the same stones walked by Pericles, Plato, and St. Paul.  Near and far, new and old, our stories weave together for a for moments and we laugh and smile.  And then our courses shift and we are launched back into our prior path of life.   We hope and pray that the time we have spent has a lasting impact.  (Matt)             

Today will be another hot day.  After a brief respite in which the temperatures dropped into the low nineties with a few scattered clouds, we are expecting triple digit temperatures for the next couple of days.  I am not used to this sort of weather.  I don't actually hate it, but it requires adjustments that I am unfamiliar with.  For one, it is really impossible to exercise during the midday heat.  It is hard to do anything in the midday heat.  As a result it makes sense to rest in the afternoon and shift your active hours to later at night.  This is quite common among Greeks and friends from the middle East.  Greece has a version of siesta from 3-5 pm which they call "Quiet Hours."  It is considered quite rude to be loud during this time.  I haven't fully embraced this lifestyle change, but I do go to bed later. 

Another change in my life has been the way that I look at shade.  When choosing a course on the street, shade is a factor.  I will alter my path to find a few moments of shade.  This morning, I was sitting on our rooftop reading the bible and I realized that I felt hot in the shade with a slight breeze blowing.  I thought, "Dang, I can't imagine having to sit in the sun right now."    

This has given me new insight into some biblical passages.  In my morning reading, (Hosea 4), God speaks of Israel's unfaithfulness and their desire to offer sacrifices under the shade of every spreading tree.  This is turn caused me to think of one of my favorite psalms, Psalm 121.  It reads in part, "The LORD is your keeper; the LORD is your shade on your right hand.  The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night."

The contrast between God's shade and the false refuge of idolatry is particularly vivid when I consider the importance of shade on a steaming day.  The question is not shade or sun, but rather... in the sweltering heat, where do you find shade?  

The Lord is our keeper.  Our Lord is a refuge.  

Omonia Church has become a place of refuge for the weary.  (Side picture is from a nearby building.)  Refugees from Syrian, Afghanistan, and Iraq find their way to this small second story floor for a few hours of food, conversation and air conditioning.  They are met by members of the local Greek church and volunteers from a variety of American ministries.  Some of their physical needs are met.  The food is always good, and there are extra clothes given by Christian NGO's.  During our time, the attendance has tripled and this part of our ministry takes nearly all of our time.  Our numbers have grown because people bring their friends and neighbors.  There are many places in Athens to get food, but we think that people come here because they find that an even greater need is met.  Today our good friend from Syrian said, "Every time I come I bring new friends with me, because I want them to be part of the family."

Most often our Greek hostess offers a few words of welcome before we pray for lunch.  She has poured out her life in selfless service, so when she talks... people listen.  She does a great job balancing bottomless love and bold faithfulness to our Lord.  Today seemed like a particularly good example.  I have paraphrased some of her words below - words which we then translated into Farsi and Arabic.  

"We want you to know how much we care about you.  We hope you believe that we love you and we have been praying for you.  Not a moment goes by that you are not on our hearts.  We want you to know that when you walk through that door the passport does not matter any more.  Whether you are Syrian, Afghanistan or American we are all part of the human family.  We have one blood.  If I was hurt and my Syrian friend gave me a blood donation I could live.  We have one blood.  

I want you also to know that Jesus said that he is the way, the truth and the life.  If you are confused and lost and frightened, you can go to him and he can help you.  If you don't believe me, you can read it for yourself in the book.  We have copies of the Bible in Arabic and Farsi.  

Today we welcome our friends from the camp across town.  This young woman is here (in her wheelchair) because he mother pushed her across the city so that she could be here.  When they fled from Afghanistan her mother carried her on her back.  These are people that we love and we want you know that we will never stop loving you.  No matter what pictures we see on the news or no matter how many people ISIS blows up, we will never stop loving you.  No one can convince us to stop believing that Jesus is the way, the truth and the life.  And no one can convince us to stop loving you."  

Amen.       

In the last month since we have been in Athens it seems that the unraveling of American community life has picked up speed.  The recent outrage over the deaths of two black men at the hands of the police and the attacks on police in Dallas and other cities seems to mark a frightening escalation of violence and distrust.  

I spent several hours reading about the events yesterday.  It is strange to observe them from the other side of the world.  It's like watching the television without the sound.  You can see what is happening, but the surrounding chatter is silenced.  

It is somewhat ironic that our family wrestled long and hard about the safety implications of coming to Athens to work with the refugee community.  From my current vantage point, America looks far more dangerous at the moment.  I know that everyone is writing their thoughts on social media, but I have a few observations to make from outside of the thought bubble of North America.  

Policy solutions will be necessary and complex.  It seems clear that there need to  be policy solutions that address the concerns of the black community.  The website     ​https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/series/counted-us-police-killings shows that blacks are killed at roughly twice the rate as whites.  It also would seem that these numbers correlate strongly with poverty rates.  Blacks are much more likely to live in poverty than whites, and this is particularly true in the city of Pittsburgh, which has a comparatively small middle class.  Black children are nearly three times as likely to grow up in poverty as white children.  (See: http://www.npc.umich.edu/poverty/) 

At the same time, we cannot forget that police offers are real people who are struggling to do a very difficult job.  They are regularly put in harms way and experience the cutting edge of all social tensions.  Attacks on police have risen in the past year with nearly 25 officers being shot.  The current crisis is not good for the black community, it is not good for the police, and it is not good for our country.    
The background for this crisis is complex and does not seem to lend itself to easy solutions.  While it might make a good slogan to say that the police should "stop being racist" or that the black community should "stop making a big deal about the police" neither are realistic.  There is a (near) complete breakdown of trust between the black community and the police.  This is fueled by layers of historic problems.  We can't ignore the past oppressive practices that leave a lasting legacy on the black community in America.  There is no "easy button" to push.  Careful and thoughtful analysis is required for necessary action.  

We must seek paths for personal action.  I think that the big temptation is to focus on the things that other people need to do differently.  As I outlined above, it is reasonable to call for policy changes, but those changes will not be simple or easy.  I fear that what is lost in all of this is the call to personal action.  It is much less costly to call others to make a change.  It is more costly to seek change in yourself.  

Perhaps you are asking the question:  What would it look like for me to pursue personal change?    We have been wrestling with this question as a church for the last two years.  As church leaders we have taken steps towards forming an action plan on a call for personal and congregational action.  (This has not been finalized, but the bulk of it has been discussed publicly.)  As a denomination we have taken steps to repent of our past racial sins and we are seriously seeking steps for active repentance.  Let me boil all of this down to a simple Christian concept.  There is one easily identifiable problem that lies squarely at the feet of the church.  Addressing this problem is necessary for our obedience to Christ and it would make an impact on the world around us.  

The problem is the ongoing (and mostly unintentional) segregation of the American church.  Black and white Americans still live relatively segregated lives.  This is particularly true in churches.  That means that when a crisis begins to boil, the American church cannot respond as a unified whole, but rather as two fairly separate entities.  

I believe that it necessary for us to address it.  I believe that there are four areas in which we can address this problem.  

1.)  We can seek to make City Reformed a more accessible place for people of color. 2.)  We can seek to build better relationships with black congregations.  
3.)  We can support black Christians who are called to leadership in our denomination.  
4.)  We can engage in ministry in underprivileged minority neighborhoods.  

Our church has taken small steps in all of these directions and we need to continue the process.  All of these steps require energy and sacrifice.  They cannot be pawned off on someone else and they cannot be mandated by the government.  They require personal action.  

We must prayer together.  For years otherwise secular Americans would respond to a crisis by saying, "Our thoughts and prayers and with you."  But we knew what that meant.  It was a solemn way of saying, we are thinking about you.  But no one was really praying to a God who would answer prayer.  Not in the public realm.

Is it different in the church?  

I have noticed a growing cynicism about responding to tragedies with prayer.  Some have begun to see prayer as a pious dismissal of a problem.  "Oh, I will pray about it.  Now let's stop talking about it."  I fear that the church may have given the world reason to believe this.  During this sabbatical I have come to the painful conclusion that my personal prayer life is woefully disobedient.  I have been shaped by our modern secular culture to believe that God is not really present and that solutions to major problems are to be found in merely physical actions.  I have surrendered my prayer life to modernity.  That needs to change.  It is changing.     

Let me ask the reader a personal question.  If you are a Christian, then you believe that God calls us to prayer and answers prayers.  Are you actually praying about this situation?  Are you on your knees begging God for his mercy at a time of national crisis?  Are you seeking ways to pray with others?  Have you looked for opportunities to join your African American brothers and sisters in prayer?  

Why not?